GW Together Arc 5 Ruses of War
by LoveyouHateyou
Summary: Heero keeps a special kind of diary, locked away safely. Duo is dying to know... Inspired by Naomi's 'Charcoal Memories'.
1. Chapter 1 Picking The Lock

**Ruses of War- Picking The Lock**

Author: LoveyouHateyou  
Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: NC-15/M  
Pairings: Heero / Duo (1/2)  
Warnings: Occasional profanity, some angst, some fun, some yaoi.  
Disclaimer:I do not own them although I would like that. Or at least someone like Duo or Quatre, or perhaps both of them. All rights with their original owners.  
Spoilers: None.

Summary: With her kind permission, this is based on Naomi's 'Charcoal Memories', which you can find at her websiteLocked away safely in a box under his bed, Heero keeps a drawing book to offload memories and longings. Duo is dying to know…

**xxx**

Someone had picked the lock.

He. Had. Picked. The. Lock.

Heero sat on the floor by his bed, the weapons case drawn half out from underneath the frame, his hands still resting on the latch. He stared at the tiny scratch on the brushed metal surface and felt unable to move. Or to think clearly for he was so mad at Duo that he felt he would storm into his bedroom next door and murder him.

He would have seen the book. Hell, of course he had seen the damn book, with all the secrets Heero had determinedly locked away – out of sight, out of his life, out of his heart. Mainly out of his heart, where they could gnaw and hurt and burn him.

And this little crook... no wonder he had looked so guilty beneath his smile. It had been a little too bright, a bit too sassy today, and Duo had disappeared straight into his room after school, 'To rehearse for the test."

Hah! Duo studying. A contradiction in terms. The boy had not a shred of discipline, let alone the capability of planning and acting as though he actually tried to achieve a goal. He was too busy fussing over his hair and the girls and whatever else moved him.

What did actually move him?

Heero angrily keyed the lock combination and yanked open the case. There lay his sketchbook, in its innocent black cover that shrouded Heero's dreams and nightmares.

Where did Duo fit in? Why on earth had he ever drawn the brat?

Huffing, he took the book out and hugged it against his chest as though he could hide it from view, from touch, from Duo's eyes now.

He remembered well sitting on that bench in the park surrounding their last school, and Duo fooling around chasing the birds on the meadows. It had been just before term break, the warmth of the late afternoon carrying the honeyscent of summer. Duo, in his black jeans and top, braid swinging madly, had found it hilarious trying to catch the stupid things, really something only Duo could enjoy, as though he had slumped right back into childhood years, and finally he had collapsed next to the bench in the soft, high grass. Sprawled on his back, he was panting, laughing in this silly way of his, his eyes shining with the reflection of the sky and sun and...

Something else that made Heero gasp, even now, drop the book, draw up his knees and wrap his arms around them, linking his hands tightly. It could not be. It must not be true.

But he had begun to draw. Duo sleeping at first. He had snuck to his room, knowing Duo always left his door slightly ajar – some old fear of being trapped, he had mumbled when Heero had asked him one day, and then he had laughed it off as always. As everything he was afraid of.

Heero had crouched by the gap and peered along the shaft of sparse light that fell into the dark room, enough to allow him a glimpse of features softened by sleep, the smile wiped off the face that suddenly looked pinched, the mass of hair that draped round Duo's bony upper torso – bare and pale, all muscle and scars, Heero could not help but notice, and blushed wildly as he caught himself wondering whether Duo wore at least pyjama bottoms beneath the sheets.

Nonsense.

He stared at the black book, anger seething within him and something much hotter that he preferred not to acknowledge. He knew the book, page by treacherous page, and most of them were covered with images of HIM. From stalking Duo's sleep from a distance, Heero had proceeded to sneak into his room at night, breathless and shivering with excitement at the forbidden pleasure it brought him to capture the always fidgeting, ever-blabbering loudmouth on paper: silent, relaxed, wrapped into stillness and floods of copper.

He had soon found out that Duo slept naked, and the frailty of his wiry body – so deceptive, so revealing – touched Heero strangely. He hated being touched.

He hated Duo for touching him even though Duo did not know. Duo slept.

Heero drew. Observation turning into obsession. He did not need to look at Duo, they knew each other so well and yet so little, but he had seen him in so many ways – hurt, bleeding, torn, laughing, fighting, manic, and in a very few, very precious moments, he had caught him with a softness in his eyes and a sweetness to his smile that was more painful than anything Heero had known.

For it went effortlessly through all of his so carefully built defences.

Striking straight into his heart.

Duo was watching him in school. The baka probably thought he would not notice. Duo could be so naive, so very much like the small boy he was never allowed to be. Somehow Heero felt that was his own role, and why should Duo have gone through horrors of his own if Heero had already dealt with them? It was not fair. He hated useless sacrifices, yet still managed to begrudge Duo his lightheartedness, the way he dealt with everything so superficially. He should have grown up by now, but he never would.

Heero felt he had been brought up as someone Duo should never have been.

But then, Duo was not like him. He refused to succumb to gloom and brooding. Yes, this was most unfair. Heero was supposed to be the stronger one of them.

Reluctantly he unfolded one arm and reached for the book. Traced its spine while chewing his lips. Inserted one finger at random between the pages and hesitantly flipped it open.

Duo laughing, over his shoulder, eyes cheery, slightly silly, mouth open wide as though to swallow the whole world, mussed copper bangs falling into his face.

Heero remembered and scowled. He should not be so damn jolly. He needed help, protection, warmth, things Heero could give him... wanted to give... and was afraid of. If Duo got hurt, he knew he would hurt too. He hated hurt, vulnerability, weakness. He hated them in Duo for they made him such an easy prey. He had tried to tell him, in angry grunts and rants, putting him down for almost everything he did.

Nothing worked. Apart from putting this passing shade of sadness into Duo's eyes, he achieved nothing.

Heero thumbed through the pictures. Seeing Duo sad, or even serious, did him no good either. This discovery surprised – no, it shocked him. It made his heart falter, his breath hitch.

And he was stunned to find that he could not stop anymore. He tried to burn the book, setting fire to it with a lighter from Duo's jacket pocket, only to dab the flames out as soon as they licked over the edge that was now browned and brittle. It would have been akin to burning Duo.

So he kept drawing. In class, back in the flat they shared, outdoors, even at the Mission Control Centre. He could not help it. Duo thought he studied too hard and teased him about growing haggard and thin. Was he? He would look into the mirror later to scrutinise, something usually done only by Duo. Perfect Soldiers did not give a damn about their looks.

He turned a page, and there was Duo sitting astride on a low wall, legs dangling, hair down, hiding most of his face as he pleated the heavy strands. He appeared relaxed, tranquil for once, and completely unaware of his secret observer.

Heero gaped, his throat growing hot and dry. He shifted uncomfortably. How did Duo manage to ooze so much damn... sex doing his hair? The baka had no idea, really, and if even Heero could not help but feel, what about others? Someone needed to keep an eye on him. Heero puffed up his cheeks and let the air out in a slow, tense stream against his sweaty upper lip and brow. It was as good an excuse as any to stay close.

He still had to deliver a rant, he vaguely remembered, and a fresh wave of anger washed over him. He slapped the book shut and jumped up but realised he would have to take things rather steady or be betrayed by his own body. Furiously kicking the case back under the bed, he whirled around when he heard the door open.

From the gap, Duo stared at him, eyes wide with worry and defiance, lips drawn between his teeth, lanky frame hunched, coiled for flight or fight, whatever came first. So typical Duo. And then his gaze raked over Heero and a smile spread on his face.

"You-" Heero snarled, hands clenching, teeth bare, and began to stride towards the door.

"I've come to apologise," Duo said hastily, retreating a little as Heero ripped the door from him and flung it open. "Heero, I didn't – I had no fucking idea, and I'm sorry I tried to... look, I only wanted to pass this damn exam, not to embarrass you, and... and-"

Heero glared at him, letting his jittery barrage splutter past until Duo ran out of breath.

Duo gasped irritatedly. "Dontcha wanna say something?" Ah, a spark of resistance here, kindled by stony silence. This would always work; Duo could not stand silence. "Man, Heero, why didn't ya say you had your private stuff in there?"

"'Cos it would have been like inviting you idiot!"

Duo blinked, tense, the smile freezing a little and waning from his eyes. Heero felt his heart cramp. Oh, it hurt to see him cloud over like this, growing all wary and suspicious, and hell, it should not matter a fig.

"Hell, yeah," Duo said, retreating by another small step and half-turning away, "just keep it all to yourself, ne? Never mind what was, or what could be if you weren't so fucking stuck up your ass. Just stop using me as your pin-up, will you? Or I'll get ideas, like it could mean something."

"You're lucky I don't slap you around, baka."

"Don't call me that." Duo's voice suddenly softened, he still smiled, but he looked weary, and angry and very pissed off – as though he had been wronged. "Please. And you may slap me around 'cos this time, I think, I deserve it."

And hell would freeze over that very moment, because Duo the Wild Thing, Duo-touch-me-not squeezed his eyes closed and slightly turned his head, offering his cheek to Heero and drawing a deep breath in expectation of the blow.

Heero was helpless. Furious. Utterly unable to do as asked.

So he kissed instead. And growled, "I'll call you what I like, Maxwell."

Duo recoiled, eyes ablaze, cheeks flaming. "Piss off, Yuy."

Heero watched him storm off, rip his jacket off the peg by the door and clatter down the stairs. The outside door slammed shut with such violence that the windowpanes sighed a glassy complaint.

So this was wrong as well. He should have known. Duo had managed to defeat him. Disarmed him. Just how? He hated it.

Heero leaned against the wall and slowly touched his lips. Duo's taste still lingered there, a pungent mix of smoke, alcohol and spice. He drank way too much, and he was bad at it. He should be glad that it was out now, instead he had chosen to make a scene and run off. Heero pushed himself off the wall and gave it a hard kick.

This pain was easier to cope with than the other kind. Had he been so mistaken? Duo had been coming on to him a few times during their missions, and he had thought it was for battle comfort. So now what? Why was he acting in such a prissy way, precious about being drawn? Not even... without...

Heero groaned and pressed both hands between his thighs. If Duo thought he could determine the way this was going, he was so wrong. If he wanted to be prude now, Heero would wait, no matter what it would cost him. He had to win again.

So he made his way to his room, slumped on his bed and willed his breathing to slow. Forbade himself to touch, to dream, to wonder.

Heero emptied his mind. The Perfect Soldier could do this. He could deny, ignore, suppress the urges of his body and his heart.

And he finally fell asleep in the small hours of the next morning, the minute he heard Duo sneak back in.

**xxx  
****On to chapter 2.**


	2. Chapter 2 Little Deaths

**Ruses of War- Little Deaths**

Author: LoveyouHateyou  
Fandom: Gundam Wing  
Rating: NC-15/M  
Pairings: DuoxHeero (2x1)  
Warnings: Occasional profanity, some fun, yaoi.  
Disclaimer:I do not own them although I would like that. Or at least someone like Duo or Quatre, or perhaps both of them. Heero always being a bit scary. All rights with their original owners.  
Spoilers: None.

Summary: Little animal sitting pretty… the Perfect Soldier has certain fantasies, so what is he going to do about them?

**xxx**

Duo flopped onto his bed and wriggled to find a comfortable place among the messy sheets – he was not in the habit of making his bed, like Heero the Perfect Soldier, and regularly ended up rolling around in something resembling a crow's nest until his body fit into some dip in the mattress and he could drag the rest of the blankets over himself.

"You make a bed like a dog," Heero had sneered at him once. It had hurt, in a strange way, that he should compare him to an animal, but then, Duo thought with a pang of anger, what else could he be in the eyes of his straight-laced companion.

Who had filled an entire book with images of said animal.

Sitting pretty. Really pretty.

Duo stirred, sighed, and placed one arm across his chest. He could feel his own heart thump beneath the fabric of his shirt and jacket. So hard, and it was not the only hard bit of his body. He threw the other arm over his head and nuzzled his face into the crook of his elbow as his hand moved further south as though of its own accord. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he cupped himself, tentatively, through the thick denim of his trousers. Slightly spreading his legs, he felt his face grow hot as he moved against his own touch, arching his back a little, shifting until he could lift his hips just a bit, stealthily not to disturb Heero who breathed evenly in his sleep.

Duo could hear it through two slightly ajar doors. Heero would always snore softly, Duo had noticed, and he slept the same way he did everything: soundly and flawlessly. Duo also knew that to achieve the perfect sleep, Heero needed the help of a number of small white tablets he carried with him at all times, tucked into a sewn-in pocket inside his tank top, like a life saver. Their war was far from over.

Why on earth had he drawn Duo? They had broken apart after the fighting was done and not managed to mend the pieces. Duo was at a loss as how to help Heero. Or himself, for that matter. So he did what he could: play the joker, the baka, and stay around in the only way Heero let him.

But Heero had made him look... beautiful.

Duo swallowed an agonised moan and pressed harder against his groin. This was all stupid, an illusion, some sort of silly twist in the plot. This was not for him. Heero was not for him, not now after all the battles had been fought and the world was done with them.

But hell, he wanted Heero so bad, and this want, this urge, threatened to drown his reason.

He knew the dull throbbing in his abdomen, the heat that began to knot in his loins and pour into this most disobedient part of his body that right now rubbed painfully against the metal zip. Let it go sore then – Duo grabbed firmly through the fabric and grated against his own body until he let out a whimper of pain. He had no right, not even now, not even in his fantasies, to Heero. He berated himself for his lack of control, for being so weak, so utterly stupid. He wanted. Baka. He felt his eyes burn and fill, and longed to yell out his frustration and anger, or even better, to hurt.

He had learned that hurt was good. Hurt stopped him wanting, if only for a few hot, scorching moments. He could prove it by the cuts on his forearms, the scars he kept carefully hidden from Heero, and the long scratches down his chest and sides.

He let go of the aching bulge and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He needed to hurt, he needed to bleed, to feel his nails scour his flesh, adding a few more marks of punishment to the catalogue of his passion. Not even in his dreams must he sully the perfection embodied in Heero. He deserved punishment, for he wanted Heero so bad.

He fought off the soothing touch as just another silly dream to fool him into hoping, just as those sketches had done, as every sparse smile, every moment of light in Heero's eyes always did. And it was all so stupid: Hilde liked him, and he liked her, ne? She was a lovely girl, firm and decent, never judged anyone by their past. Not even Duo.

But in their job, it was better to stay well clear of such attachments. And so Duo had found, to his surprise and dismay, that his body looked for other ways of relief, and his mind veered towards alternative dreams, for Duo needed. He needed touch, love, passion, no matter where it came from.

Coming from Heero, it meant bliss.

Like now, when something cool slid over the heated skin of his bare arms and a hand closed over his own, down there, moving along with his own rhythm, while a soft breeze fanned his sweaty face. It blew down his jaw and the side of his neck, and then he froze.

The touch of lips. A taste he knew. A whisper barely above breathing. "Duo?"

He sure as hell was dead, for he would not even dare dreaming this. Perhaps he should not have swallowed a whole handful of the colourful little capsules the dude in the downtown bar had given him, along with a tumbler full of vodka. They made his head spin and tainted his vision with weird colours, but this sure was the last stand of his reasonable mind before it dissolved into oblivion.

Firm fingers combing through his almost undone braid with a gentleness that made him want to cry. A thumb rubbing over his visible eye and cheekbone, then a cautious grip cupping his chin to turn his face up into the darkness.

He kept his eyes shut. Die, die, die, he chanted in his mind, oh dear lord let me die now while I'm dreaming.

"Baka, who's talking about dying?" he heard Heero grumble, a twinge of amusement in his tone mingling with concern, and tenderness, and a passion so firm and deep that it left Duo breathless. "Unless," he could feel Heero lean over him, "we're talking about little deaths here."

"Slap me," Duo managed, still refusing to open his eyes.

"Rubbish. I can't slap you, and I guess it's a mistake telling you, what with your big mouth and all. Won't you hug me now?"

"You... were mad at me."

A small snort. "Hn."

Whatever, Duo added fuzzily in his thoughts.

The mattress dipped beneath the weight of Heero's body as he tried to stretch out besides Duo. For a moment, he shifted, writhed, cursed under his breath, and finally Duo dared to crack open an eye to catch a glimpse of the Perfect Soldier, bare as on the day he was born, trying to tidy up the bed.

Duo opened both eyes and softly turned towards him. Heero was momentarily absorbed into folding a blanket into a neat square. Duo could not help but stare, his eyes widening a little, a smile broadening his mouth – there was something rather incongruous about the very obviously aroused state of Heero's body and his compulsion to tidy up that overrode even the most basic of his needs.

"Kiss me already," Heero mumbled over his shoulder, layering the blanket into another clean fold.

He just could not be fooled. But he could be... he could be had. Duo knew an invitation when he heard one. He sure was busted and hallucinating, those damn pills... he had to get more of them. Right when he sobered up because this was too beautiful to miss.

He rose to his knees and leaned against Heero's back. Heero smelled clean, of washed sheets, a whiff of shampoo, and a hint of steel. And he was so hot Duo thought he might be running a temperature. Perhaps he was ill. "Heero?"

"I'm waiting, baka. Oh, damn you, don't make me beg, for I won't." The blanket was folded so small, it would fit into a pocket. Deftly, Heero tried to fold it once more.

Duo wound one arm around Heero's waist and covered both his hands. "Don't call me that," he said, his voice without sting.

Heero stilled. He had heard the plea, and it hurt as only Duo could hurt him. How could something so soft be so dangerous, so utterly painful?

Duo rested his head in the crook of Heero's neck. Thoughtfully slipped out his tongue to test the flavour of Heero's skin. Familiar, tangy, almost sharp.

"You got me damn worried." Heero angled one arm around Duo's neck, digging into the flood of wild hair, and tightened his grip a little, a tremor running through his body. Duo let his parted lips slide over his shoulder and laughed when Heero jumped as he touched the tousle in the hollow under his arm.

"Duo, you brat!" He was over Duo in a flash, completely unashamed of his nakedness, and still rather fearsome, like a sheathed blade, the whiff of Death about him as she smiled sweetly through his darkened eyes.

Duo arched against him and yanked him close in a hard move that surprised a harsh gasp out of Heero. "Would this not make a nice picture?" Duo murmured huskily as he gripped Heero's ankles and arranged his legs so that Heero ended up straddling his hips. "For your saucy little book?"

"It's not saucy-" Heero's breathless protest was swallowed by a wild kiss. Duo moved slowly against him, and Heero dropped his head to his chest, letting himself go. Leaning into the familiar grip of sure hands around his upper arms, against the trembling, unrelenting rhythm of Duo's body beneath his own.

If only it were not so hard to let go. To shed stealth and fear and all those convenient shells he had cocooned himself in. Only Duo was mad enough, hopeful and silly enough not to fear him, not to give up on him. The baka.

Only Duo made him feel. Did he know just what he unleashed? Baka, baka, baka.

Heero threw back his head and arched his spine.

Only Duo drove him crazy like this.

Duo was still fully clothed. He had a distinctly predatory gleam in his eyes now, and Heero was too far gone to do anything about it. The baka had watched him in school, and Heero had observed. Knowing curiosity would get the better of Duo, and how a little teasing enticed and incensed him. Now he was burning against Heero, daring enough to take what respect and fear would forbid otherwise. Duo had ghosts of his own with his damn insistence on being worth nothing.

He really had no idea.

Heero sighed deeply, his limbs trembling with tension and slick with cooling sweat, his flesh straining and weeping. "Duo?" he groaned softly.

He should not have ranted, though it had angered him enormously to see that Duo would go as far as pinching his private stuff. Cross the barriers again as though they did not exist between them, to pry and prod and poke around in Heero's life. To find what he was supposed to find, though not in the way he did. Duo really had no concept of respect.

Heero regretted his outburst. Duo going away in a huff meant Duo doing silly things. He had damaged himself again. Fresh streaks of crimson gleaming black in the vague light of early dusk. It hurt so much seeing him bleeding, torn, helpless. It pained Heero beyond words, at least beyond his own capabilities of talking things out. He was better at showing.

So he bent to kiss a bleeding scratch, cut deeply into scarred white skin, and slowly licked away the blood. He knew every one of those scars, the baka tried to hide them, but how could he? When he flew into one of his tempers, or fits of hysteria, or bouts of depression, Heero saw them all, the ones on his forearms, his belly and flanks, and he had seen the long, neatly healed slash at the base of Duo's neck.

He could limit the damage, he knew, but he was not sure whether he could prevent it. Well, the book had been a good idea anyway. To show.

To show Duo how beautiful life was. How beautiful he was, and how much Heero wanted him. How much he needed Duo, whole and sound, cheerful and firm, the light of his life.

Duo lay still, panting, even now restraining himself to draw out this dream, his hands pressing into Heero's shoulders as he watched the dark head nestling against his belly, felt the coolness of thick hair slide over his damp skin and the longing heat of Heero's mouth.

"No," he gasped, a choked little whisper, as he tugged slightly at Heero. "I want... Heero, I want... let me... oh, please?"

Anything. Anything, Duo. Just be my light. Heero trailed cool kisses up his midriff, over his collarbone and his throat, kissed his jawbone and alighted on his lips. Eyes wide, dark with lust and pleading, and strangely respectful even now, Duo stared into his gaze. "I think," Heero murmured into his half-open, panting mouth, "it's in your jeans pocket."

Duo blinked. Heero knew him too damn well, but oh, he felt so good, so wonderfully familiar, so very, very close. His hands wedging between them to unbutton Duo's jeans and free him, his ease and lack of awkwardness. Perfect, even in his passion.

Duo thought he would pass out when he drowned in heat. Tight, burning, wet heat, penetrating his mouth and sheathing his ache, Heero's nakedness a silvery shadow in the grey morning light. And when Duo came round, he gripped Heero's hips and set the rhythm, slow, steady and hard.

"Beautiful," Heero panted, "you're... so... oh..." The rest dissolving into lustful little grunts as they moved, burned, glowed and sated themselves on one another. Duo lost himself first, keening a little as he tumbled blindly into the storm that rocked him, and then Heero stiffened and shuddered, biting back the scream, always the soldier, though his eyes misted over and half-closed, and there was one single droplet sliding down his cheek – whether a tear or sweat, Duo could not tell, but he watched, fascinated, in breathless disbelief, and then wiped it off with his fingertip and tasted it. Salt, steel, bitterness, Heero.

Dream over.

Duo tried to catch his breath, calm his racing pulse.

Heero sunk on top of him, draping his firm body over Duo's. Even now, Duo could feel his heat seep through his own clothes, right into the ice of his fears. Heero melted him with frightening ease.

"Let me up," Duo gasped.

"To do what?" Heero mumbled, but Duo did not miss the edge to his tone.

"Get coffee, and I feel sick, and-"

"You're embarrassed, a nobody, a slut – insert as required." Heero sighed and looked up. Duo tried to glower at him.

Duo could not glower. Shinigami looked right miserable now, flooded with guilt.

Heero smiled, a spark in his eyes. "So what about this drawing?"

"Huh?" Duo flicked the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, catching a little trail of drool at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm calm enough now, I think," Heero said, dizzily following this moist pink bit of flesh with his eyes.

Duo stared, perplexed, then angry, and finally a low rumble began to shudder through him until he laughed out loud. Heero fell upon him, and Duo gurgled beneath his hard body, "You crafty... ouch, don't punch me, oh, hell, yeah, I shoulda known, Heero Yuy the Sly, Heero, that tickles, it's not fair... hell, you're smotherin' me, no, look, please... ah..."

"What was that?"

"Aiii – no, don't tickle, please! Please! Anything you wa... want... just! stop! it!" Duo yelled between laughter and choking.

"You pose for me. Naked. After coffee." And Heero got up to disappear in the kitchen, leaving Duo panting and dumbfounded.

Something earthshattering had happened. Heero made coffee. Duo mused lazily that he surely had died because his body told him cheerily that he had fucked - no, he scolded himself - that he had made love to his stuck-up-his-ass lover, the madness of his life, the soul of his passion, and it had left him reeling with awe. Some things just never changed.

He had slept with the Perfect Soldier.  
Who had used a mean little ruse of war to get him to do just that?  
Groaning, Duo collapsed into the pillows. Heero could just have asked.

But then, why make things simple if you could have them complicated.  
Heero did not do simple.

And Duo decided he liked complicated.  
At least until it would all get too much again.

**xxx**

**The End**


End file.
